


How to be a Good Spotter

by gmartinez12



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics), Robin (Comics), Super Sons (Comics), Superboy (Comics), Superman (Comics)
Genre: Boys having Sex, Damijon - Freeform, Jondami, M/M, Super Sons - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-25
Updated: 2018-07-25
Packaged: 2019-06-16 03:19:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15427884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gmartinez12/pseuds/gmartinez12
Summary: Damian just wanted some time alone to lift some weights. Jon throws a wrench in his plans by showing up to indulge in his favorite pastime of teasing his best friend, leading to a heated showdown that inevitably happens when two sweaty boys in the throes of puberty find themselves alone together.





	How to be a Good Spotter

**Author's Note:**

> You can thank some sinful headcanons in my friends' discord group for this idea :p
> 
>  
> 
> Oh and if you got a moment, and maybe some spare change, please consider showing your support by donating a coffee for $3 at my page:
> 
> **ko-fi.com/gmartineztheficwriter.**
> 
> If you really enjoy my fics (and I really hope you do) and kudos and comments aren't enough to express how hyped you are, ko-fi donations are a great way to show your love, too XD. It helps me pay my credit card bills and really motivates me to keep on providing content. And if I get any extra? I might even commission damijon art we can all enjoy. I'll keep writing stories for free don't worry, I love the super sons so much that all I want is to share the fandom with you guys. But yeah, if you like, ko-fi donations are super cool too :3
> 
> Also, if you wanna chat and say hi, my discord is gmartinez12#9930 :D

**How to be a good spotter: a Damijon fic**

**By gmartinez**

 

****

 

 

"Forty-five…Forty-six…” Damian huffed as he strained to lift the weights above him.

He was lifting 125 pounds, much more than the average a boy his size and weight had any right to lift. But Damian prided himself on being superior over the average. He would persevere, excel, and overcome. A vein bulged at his temple and his forehead was lined with sweat. Even with his loose training outfit consisting of a white tank top and boxer shorts, he felt too warm and his body already felt uncomfortably damp.

The shadow of a head with unkempt hair loomed above Damian. He squinted his eyes enough for the light to adjust and reveal Jon’s inquisitive face staring down at him.

“I thought this was supposed to be our do-nothing-day?” Jon asked. His lilting tone was enough for Damian to know the boy was miffed.

“That doesn’t mean I can’t spend it doing something productive,” Damian said between breaths. “Now if you’ll excuse me…forty-seven!”

Jon made a face then moved away to the side, belching audibly as he did so.

“Whoops, excuse me,” he said with a shy smile.

“Please tell me you’re not eating noodles again,” Damian groaned.

“What do you have against noodles, D?” Jon gasped in mock offense. “Instant noodles is mankind’s best invention and it will help solve world hunger. And it’s yummy.”

“It smells,” Damian said as he steadied his breathing. “Need I remind you? Our ventilation has to fight through _seven_ atmospheres of oceanic pressure without having to contend with cheap Chinese takeout.”

“You just don’t like noodles cuz I’d rather marry them than you,” Jon teased, a corner of his mouth curling in a sly grin.

“W-what, I don’t…!” Damian sputtered. The barbell he was holding up dipped too low on the right as his concentration faltered.

“Want some help there, little buddy?” Jon said with a giggle.

“I….have it….under…” Damian’s breathing was shallow and labored as he struggled to balance the weight once more. “…control!” A few tense seconds later, Damian regained his composure and brought the barbell down, his modest biceps bulging from the effort.

“Did you just come here to torment me? Because I’m sufficiently tormented right now, thanks,” Damian said tiredly. He looked over to Jon but the boy didn’t look like he was paying much attention to the statement, judging by the way he was dazedly ogling Damian.

Jon squatted beside Damian with his mouth slightly open. He reached out and touched Damian’s arm, tracing his finger along the outline of Damian’s muscles. Damian winced as his eyes followed Jon’s finger—the younger boy’s touch felt like a hot iron rod to his sweaty skin. The expression on Jon’s face was a mixture of wonder, a bit of envy, and a whole lot of nervous excitement. It was as if he was getting a thrill out of touching something private…or forbidden.

“Damian, want me to spot for you?” Jon asked earnestly with a smile that looked much too cheerful.

“Oh, uh, sure? I never thought you held an interest in…” Damian began to say. But then he saw the look in Jon’s face. He should’ve seen that glint of pure mischief in Jon’s eyes earlier. He should’ve noticed the lascivious smile that almost reached up to Jon’s ears. He was still unused to seeing Jon that way, so he was completely taken by surprise when Jon positioned himself not near the bar as a spotter is wont to do, but rather at the foot of the bench where Damian’s legs were.

It had only been a month when the two of them had started getting handsy with each other. It had started out innocently enough—Damian had walked in on a careless Jon trying to take care of his arousal without the working knowledge of proper self-pleasure. Or at least, that’s how Damian saw it. He understood it as his burden and responsibility as the older and vastly more knowledgeable half of the best-friendship to educate his younger compatriot on the wonderful mysteries of boyhood. That and Damian’s inhibitions pretty much turned to dust upon seeing how endearing Jon was without clothing.

That first encounter became a lesson was followed by an example, and then an experiment, until they both ditched the class altogether and started furiously rubbing their hard members against each other in a frenzied dance in bed. And they’d done it a lot and more, too, as the days passed. Jon definitely loved it. And despite Damian’s legendary discipline and self-control, touching Jon was one of the few things that turned his steely resolve into quick-melt cheese.

With Damian’s mind going a mile a second from his brief flashback, and Jon’s lewd face bearing down on his lower half, it was not entirely unprecedented that a tent quickly sprung from Damian’s crotch like a pup that just caught a whiff of a delectable treat.

“Jon…” Damian said with the air of a man at the verge of begging for his life. “In case it hasn’t occurred to you, there’s over a hundred pounds of iron above my head, and the only thing stopping it from squishing my head like a watermelon is my concentration, which you are testing by threatening indecency upon me.”

Jon’s response was a childish giggle. His features looked more crafty and catlike than ever—or rather, they made him look like a playful but merciless imp, giddy at the thought of inflicting all manner of sexual mayhem on Damian’s defenseless lower half.

“Maybe you can stop your workout and mess around with me for a bit?” Jon coyly suggested. He poked the tent in Damian’s boxers with his finger, almost causing Damian to flinch.

“Absolutely not,” Damian snapped. “I’m in the middle of my regimen and I’m too many reps in to stop now.”

“Guess you have to power through it then, if you don’t wanna ruin your reps or whatever.” Jon shrugged nonchalantly.

“Jon, cease this at—yeeaaggh!” Jon had fished Damian’s boner through the flap in front of his boxers, causing him to yelp.

Damian still had the barbell close to his chest, and the jarring sensation of having his penis exposed to the air—with Jon’s fingers around it—shook him, causing the weights to tip dangerously to the left again. Damian’s breathing became shallow and raspy as everything below his waist felt like an impending ground zero for a nuclear explosion. Jon was beginning to idly fiddle with his steel-hard rod, and the mellow, disorienting pangs of pleasure that flared throughout his body every time Jon stroked him was gnawing away at Damian’s mind.

“C’mon, D, give up,” Jon suggested with a very satisfied smirk. “Even _you_ don’t have that much self-discipline.”

“I’ll show you discipline! Do your worst!” Damian said through gritted teeth. He centered his arms again and heaved, raising the barbell and snapping his elbows straight. “Forty-seven!”

Jon’s lips twisted into a wicked grin. His eyes almost looked malevolent, flashing with playful confidence. He wasn’t going to turn Damian’s invitation down. He tugged at Damian’s shaft to get the older boy’s attention. It worked—Damian craned his neck to see what Jon was up to. Jon waited just long enough for Damian’s eyes to meet his, flashed him a wink, and proceeded to engulf the whole length of Damian’s boyhood into his mouth.

All the air was sucked out of Damian’s lungs as he gasped, and he accidentally brought the bar down to his chest faster than normal. It was too close—the bar itself was digging into Damian’s sternum and his elbows protested with a sharp ache. And yet, Damian’s head felt like it was floating aimlessly in the ocean, as the majority of his senses involuntarily decided to focus on the moist, hot, immensely pleasurable cradle that was Jon’s eager, sucking mouth. He forced himself to think of something extremely unpleasant to regain his wits, and after recalling how utterly soul-crushingly bitter Tim Drake’s favorite imported coffee beans were, Damian raised the barbell.

“Forty-eight!”

In an instant, Damian was plunged dick-first into another reality. His body felt uncomfortably warm and his own perspiration felt like the tiny pinpricks of needles. He felt like he was floating on stale unmoving air, and his ears could only register the quavering beats of his agitated heart. In that realm of air and nothingness, a blazing fire engulfed his insides, starting from his crotch. Jon continued to suck him. And Damian, for all intents and purposes trapped in a fever dream, lowered the bar, and then pushed again.

“Forty-nine!”

Damian whimpered. He’d almost let the bar crash to his chest again when he was pulled into yet another world. This world blinded him so that he only saw a soft red glow, as if he was trapped inside a membrane of flesh. Perhaps it was so because Damian had to shut his eyes in sheer delight as Jon took his whole shaft into his mouth in one fluid movement, wrapping his pulsing rod in unnatural heat. Inside the brutal prison Jon’s mouth, Damian’s dick was a hapless victim of a very firm and inquisitive tongue, poking, prodding, and grazing his ultra-sensitive tip. All the while, Damian kept thinking it was his fault, it was his fault, all his fault…that he’d taught Jon so diligently on the art of fellating his phallus.

“Fi—fifty!”

Damian was now on a world made out of a single cliff, and he was perched precariously on the edge, forever doomed to teeter between falling and not, but never finding the satisfaction of having one outcome in its entirety. That was the sensation of Jon easing back up on Damian’s dick and keeping just the head in his mouth, increasing the suction and using his tongue to caress Damian’s tender glans. The pleasure was intense—it was almost painful in a way, especially when Jon’s tongue swiped over his piss slit. It was a torturous sensation that threatened to make him burst, but not enough to get him anywhere other than the anxiety-ridden middle.

“Fi…fifty…one…”

The final world was simply madness. Damian’s body felt like it was dissolving into a viscous mixture of sweat, passion, and lust. Damian couldn’t perceive his surroundings anymore as his brain thudded inside his head, thudding to the rapid rhythm of Jon going all out and bobbing his head furiously up and down his cock. Jon engulfed him and ground his face on Damian’s crotch, as if looking to devour more of his flesh. Right then, every movement was pure undistilled sex and pleasure. Every vibration was passion, and every second was bliss. Damian couldn’t take it anymore. With the last of his sanity, he thrust up his arms, as though offering his life to a higher power. His bones melted at last as he gave in and gave up.

If he was to die from getting crushed by a barbell, he felt immense satisfaction in the thought that he died because he experienced the best blowjob of his young life, given by the most sadistic, cruel, incorrigible, handsome, sweet, and adorable half-Kryptonian he’d ever known. There were definitely worse ways to die other than getting head from a boy he loved too damn much.

 “Fifty-two,” he whispered.

Damian’s satisfaction took form with six urgent spasms of his over-stimulated dick, spewing hot jets of love right into Jon’s hungry mouth. Jon held on and eagerly accepted the fruit of his labor, sucking away like a pup suckling for dear life on its mother’s teat.

When Damian opened his eyes again, his vision was blocked by the barbell, which was only an inch away from the bridge of his nose. Jon held it up with three fingers, as his face loomed above Damian’s with a smug grin. Damian noted with relish that there was still a bit of his boyjuice near the boy’s chin.

Jon moved the barbell away and said, “So is that Superboy—one, Damian’s discipline—zero?”

“You used super-strength and your tongue, didn’t you?” Damian croaked, his voice hoarse.

“Hmm, I dunno…? I just kept thinking that I really wanted you to cum and prove my point,” Jon said, genuinely thoughtful as though the notion of a super tongue opened a treasure chest of possibilities.

Damian gave a weak chuckle.  “Why don’t _you_ try lifting weights while getting a blowjob, since you think it’s so easy.”

“I’ll take that dare…” Jon said, his voice silky and low.

Jon had his stiffening dick out before Damian could say anything else, bared with all of his boyish confidence. Damian rolled his eyes and opened his mouth. Jon’s member filled it with an oddly satisfying pop, and Damian felt at peace with the normalness of it. To him, having Jon’s dick in his mouth was the same as having a puzzle piece fit perfectly in its slot.

Jon gave Damian a cocky grin as he lifted the barbell up with one hand. “One,” he said gleefully.

Damian rolled his eyes. With a sure swiftness born only from constant practice, Damian reached out to caress Jon’s taint with a single digit, dragging his finger down to Jon’s wrinkled sack. He did this at the same time as he used his tongue to inflict several precise, surgical jabs directly into Jon’s pisshole. The sustained frequency and intensity was something only Damian, with a couple more years of experience over Jon, had mastered. The combination of tongue and touch sent a shockwave through Jon, and Damian could feel it running through the boy’s dick.

Barely a minute later, a loud metallic _clunk_ shattered the still air as the barbell fell heavily to the floor.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
